Officer Megure hurried off to fetch the forensics team.
Hayashi Shuichi stood in the bathroom, eyes fixed on the corpse, mind drifting back to the shoe rack at the entryway.
The women's shoes were a riot of colors and styles; the two men's pairs stuck out like sore thumbs.
One black leather—dusty. One casual sneaker—laces loose.
He stepped out, wandering the apartment, cataloging details.
Mrs. Ota's bedroom carried a faint perfume laced with barely-there tobacco.
He scanned methodically. Vanity crowded with cosmetics; a men's razor glared among them.
Beside it, an ashtray with smoldering butts.
Hayashi Shuichi lifted the razor, popped the cap—fine, straight hairs tumbled out.
He set it down, gaze landing on a discarded men's shirt on the bed, sleeves rolled as if recently worn.
Opening the nightstand drawer revealed an open box of condoms—several missing.
"Mrs. Ota has a new boyfriend?" Eri blurted.
"Mm." Hayashi Shuichi nodded thoughtfully.
He approached the bed, looked up. A rectangular patch on the wall above glowed whiter than the faded surroundings.
"Wedding photo used to hang there. New flame—she took it down."
"Megure said Mr. Ota died years ago," Eri huffed. "New boyfriend's normal."
"Normal boyfriend, sure. Problematic boyfriend…" Hayashi Shuichi shook his head oddly and left the room.
Eri stared after him, then at the white shirt. The victim in the bathroom had been shirtless.
No way…
She clapped a hand over her mouth.
Hayashi Shuichi reached a sports duffel in the living room corner.
Mrs. Ota—mid-argument with Inspector Samezaki—spotted him and panicked harder.
"Don't touch my things!" she barked. "You already searched—nothing but clothes!"
"You're a murder suspect," Samezaki warned, eyes sharp. "We can search everything."
"Is he police?" she demanded.
"Search Division One consultant," Samezaki confirmed.
Mrs. Ota's teeth ground as Hayashi Shuichi unzipped. She trembled, knuckles white on the bag.
Inside: men's athletic socks, a sweat-soaked tank—faint gym funk.
Every clue screamed another man lived here.
"Seen enough?" Mrs. Ota snatched the bag, clutching it like a lifeline.
"Ma'am, these clothes, the men's items…" Hayashi Shuichi pressed, swallowing the weirdness. "Recent boyfriend?"
Panic flashed; her grip tightened until joints blanched.
A stiff smile. Voice shaky. "No, officer—you're mistaken. These… belonged to my husband. Couldn't bear to toss them."
"Oh?" Hayashi Shuichi's tone dripped meaning. "If you couldn't bear it, why hide the wedding photo from the bedroom wall?"
Mrs. Ota's gaze skittered away; she stepped back.
On the sofa, Yuka—eyes darting—heard the question and snapped.
She shot up, glaring daggers. "My mother would never have a boyfriend! What does this have to do with the case? Stop speculating!"
Her voice cracked like a whip. She stomped, trembling with rage, then spun to the far end of the sofa, arms crossed, face thunderous.
Hayashi Shuichi ignored the denials and outburst—both only confirmed his outlandish theory.
Then Forensics Officer Tome arrived. "Consultant Lin—confirmed. Layered tissue damage around the wound. It was frozen."
"Frozen wound?" Megure gaped. "Nakajima dead longer, body on ice? Water everywhere to thaw a frozen corpse with hot shower?"
"No—the wound only," Tome clarified. "Full-body freeze would've shown."
"Murder weapon pre-frozen?" Eri guessed. "Left freeze marks on entry."
"Why freeze a weapon?" Megure scratched his head. "Impulse kill? Weapon kept in freezer for another purpose—grabbed in the heat of argument?"
Idea struck. Megure bolted for the kitchen freezer, hunting the possible weapon…
(End of Chapter)
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